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"People that can hurt you, the ones that can really hurt you, are the ones that are close enough to do it...
You sit here and you're all confused about this thing, but you have it. You have everything.
So hold on to it. Use two hands and never let go. You got it?"
She hears the words in her head, before he says them; knows the truth before he reveals it. Maybe part of her always knew, always suspected…
“I’m Daredevil.”
All the puzzle pieces slide into place, the late nights and the bruises and the busted lips fitting together until she can see the devil standing before her. Her stomach twists.
“H-“ she starts. Her mouth has gone dry and she realizes she doesn’t even know what to say. She licks her lips, swallows against the sandpaper of her tongue, tries again. “How?” Her mind is racing and her heart is pounding in her ears and the weight of all his lies is threatening to crush her. “Can you see?”
He breathes out hard, twists the corner of his mouth like he does when he’s writing a closing argument. “Not in the traditional sense, no.” She tries to work out what that means and lands on her conclusion: more bullshit. She doesn’t even care, doesn’t want to know. Not at the moment.
“You lied to me.” It comes out a whisper. She is too angry to put any more volume behind the words.
“No more.” She waits for the I’m sorry even though she knows it’s not coming. He isn’t, not really. She tries to slow her breathing, tries to calm her racing heart. None of this makes sense even though… of course.
She closes the distance between them, wonders if he’s listening to her footsteps or analyzing the way the air changes around her. He lets her pull the mask from his hands. The weight in her hands is too much; she drops it on the chair, hears him drop the paper bag on the floor. Slowly, her breath caught in her throat, she drags his hand upward until it’s resting on her cheek. In that moment she’s back in the warehouse and her wrists burn at the memory. She gasps, feeling his hand against her face but seeing Matt in front of her.
His fingers are feather light against the side of her face, and so hot. She leans into his touch, feels the calloused pads caress her skin and wind themselves into her hair. She holds him there with one hand while the other ghosts up his chest, finds the spot where she remembers his blood, presses her fingers against it until she can feel the edge of the bandage. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. Not even as she reaches up to take his glasses off.
He lets her, his hand falling away from her cheek. She folds them neatly and drops them onto the chair next to his other mask.
“Oh, Matt.” She whispers. Her fingers trace over the cuts and scrapes, cataloguing every injury. He is still, letting her see him for the first time. Her fingers pass over his lips and she feels the huff of his breath, warm and hot against them and she realizes then in that moment that she will forgive him. Already has.
She presses her lips to his. There is still one truth that she needs to know, one puzzle piece left to fit into place. When she feels his lips move against hers, feels his hands move to her back to pull her in tighter, she knows. She knows. As he tangles his fingers in her hair and moves up to press his lips against her forehead she practically whimpers.
“I am sorry, Karen. I am,” he murmurs against her skin, as if reading her thoughts from earlier.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Matt?”
“I was… afraid. Terrified that I’d hurt you or lose you or-“
“And you’re not anymore?” she interrupts him. She holds her breath, searches his face for the answer before he can give it.
“I’m more terrified than ever. I can’t you lose you, Karen. These last few weeks, I –“
She surges forward and presses her lips against his once more. She tries to pour out everything she’s been feeling for him since that first kiss in the rain: the joy, the fear, the hurt, the pain… the love? Frank was right, she knows that now. Matt hurt her, broke her, tore her to pieces but he’s… He’s everything and she never wants to let him go. She grips the front of his jacket and deepens the kiss.
His hands reach up to cup her face as his mouth slants across hers. When he finally pulls away, both of them gasping for breath, his thumbs stroke out across her wet cheekbones. She hadn’t realized she’d been crying. Outside she hears thunder crack; it startles her and she glances towards the windows. It sounds too much like gunfire. Her hand finds Matt’s and she grips it tight.
“Do you mind the rain?” she whispers, looking up into his face. One side of his mouth quirks up in a smile, the crinkles around his eyes deepening just a bit.
“No,” he replies. She laces her fingers with his, strokes her thumb across the back of his hand.
“Then I’ll walk you home.”